


Pancakes Are Ready

by JoshDunismyspiritanimal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas, Hand Jobs, It's really badly written smut, M/M, Riding, they ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) on the kitchen counter lmao, this was for shay idk man kill ne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoshDunismyspiritanimal/pseuds/JoshDunismyspiritanimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Day and Patrick's wearing some pretty compromising clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes Are Ready

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/gifts).



> Okay so basically I sent in an ask to shayynal in tumblr and then I wrote this based on the ask???

It's Christmas morning, and Pete is absolutely starving.

Patrick’s curled up beside him in his cute fuzzy batman pyjama pants and a loose white t-shirt, snoring ever-so slightly. He shifts in his sleep when Pete rolls over to look at him with a smile. They've never spent Christmas together before - not counting when the band celebrated it all together, except Joe wasn't really celebrating, per se, being Jewish and all, he just put up with their shenanigans and Pete’s off-key, drunken rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You.

A rather annoyed grumbling sound - and gross feeling - from his stomach drags Pete out of bed and down the hall in nothing but his boxers and one of his old t-shirts. Honestly, he wonders why the kitchen has to be so far from the bedroom. It makes waking up after sex so horrible, because he was to walk all the way across the house just to get a snack.

The kitchen is super clean, because Patrick had gone on a cleaning rampage for when his family had visited for a semi-holiday dinner a couple day prior to this one. Other than preparing for that mess, neither of them have gone shopping for a couple of weeks, and Pete wonders if they even have something decent for breakfast. His question is answered when he opens a cupboard and finds absolutely nothing, spare a few ingredients for baking. The fridge contains only orange juice, a six-pack of beer, milk, eggs, and leftover pizza from last night. It'snot much to work with, but Pete reckons he can make some pretty sweet homemade pancakes.

It turns out that cracking eggs is not his strong point. He's dropped at least two on the floor, and gotten some small bits of shell in the batter, but Pete knows Patrick won't mind, because he's a sweetheart like that. Besides, it's not always Pete make breakfast for the both of them on a lazy day. Usually the two men just eat cereal out of whatever dishes are clean - almost never bowls - or occasionally some burnt toast.

At first he mixes up baking soda with baking powder, but eventually gets that mistake sorted out. The milk spills all over the kitchen table where Pete is measuring it, getting down on his knees to see the, well, whatever that word is for the dip in the liquid. Placebo? He honestly couldn't care less. All Pete really remembers from his science classes is that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

He finally, finally gets the pancake mix finished and turns on the stove, the griddle already greased and sitting on top. Patrick still isn't awake, which is a good thing, and Pete is pouring some of the batter into the griddle already, spatula ready for flipping.

About five pancakes in, the soft patter of feet on the tile floor make Pete look up from his work to see Patrick, looking sleepy and content. He's wearing a big, oversized sweater with snowmen and reindeer on it, and fuzzy socks up to his knees peppered in little ornaments and mistletoe. He smiles tentatively before making his way over to sit on the counter beside the stove.

“Pancakes?” Patrick asks, licking his lips slowly and watching Pete flip another one. He's fairly distracted by the extremely hot man sitting right next to him and nearly throws the pancake onto the floor. Instead, Pete just nods quickly as Patrick starts swinging his feet back and forth.

The sweater rides up his thighs with each kick, and they're incredibly bare. “Patrick, are you wearing anything under that?”

The ginger-blond bites his lip when he smiles and purposely kicks Pete’s knee. “Nope.”

Patrick’s sweater hikes up a bit more, and Pete can see the soft flesh of his thigh and swears his heartbeat kicks up. He and Patrick have been a thing for almost a year now, but he still gets shivers when anything remotely intimate happens between then. “What if I just fucked you on the counter, yeah?” he lets slip out, only to have Patrick shake his head again.

“I wanna eat pancakes first, Pete,” he giggles - fucking giggles - and Pete nearly drops his spatula. He can't believe he's actually being cockblocked by a god damn pancake.

Pete doesn't really argue though, he just keeps making the pancakes while Trick watches in his peripheral vision. He's being an absolute tease, stretching his legs out and leaning back to stretch his arms and yawn so that the sweater rides up even more. If Pete didn't have so much control he'd probably have Patrick pinned to the countertop by now and be taking that sweater off like it was going to kill the smaller man or something.

Finally the pancakes are finished, and Pete hurriedly throws them onto a plate, turns off the stove, and then pins Patrick against the counter. “So pancakes are done.”

“Yeah.” Patrick sinks his teeth into his bottom lip again and Pete moves forward, pushing Patrick’s teeth out of the way. He sucks on his bottom lip and the boy beneath him brings his arms up to wrap themselves tightly around Pete’s neck.

Pete pulls away for a second, Patrick tugging on his hair, and brings his mouth down to nip at his earlobe. “Gonna fuck you on the counter,” he growls out, his breath hot and wet against Patrick’s ear. The smaller man whimpers breathily and pulls Pete back to his mouth.

Patrick really isn't wearing anything except for the sweater and stockings, because Pete’s hand is up the sweater, palm pressing onto his partner’s slight erection, and Patrick is letting out noises into Pete’s mouth that aren't doing his own semi any good. It's a good thing Pete’s learned serious self control over the past year or he’d already be inside Patrick, which would suck because they were both pretty big fans of foreplay.

He moves his hand away from Patrick’s cock and back around to palm slightly at his ass instead. Patrick’s breath hitches when he presses his fingers between the other man’s ass cheeks and against the tight ring of muscle that came after them. “Pete we don't have any lube,” Patrick stumbles out, his lips still tracing over his slightly taller partner’s.

Pete doesn’t remove his hand, but he uses his non-occupied one to open a drawer and fumbles around until he feels the bottle of lube they keep in the kitchen for exactly this kind of situation. He pops open the bottle and briefly removes his other hand to coat some of the cool substance onto his fingers before putting them back and inserting one into Patrick’s ass. They haven't done this in a couple of weeks, and he’s tight and hot around Pete’s finger. Patrick holds his breath when Pete puts in a second one, moving them around a bit and scissoring slightly to stretch him out. Before he enters a third digit, he crooks his fingers and they press against Patrick’s prostate, making him gasp and keel forward.

Pete lets out a breathy “yeah?” and puts in another, which gets Patrick pressing down onto his fingers. His cock is straining against his boxers, and if Trick’s face wasn't buried in his shoulder, he’d definitely be able to see it.

“What do you want, ‘Trick?” Pete asks, voice deep and rough. He presses his fingers against Patrick’s prostate again and the small man lets out a gasping moan and shifts, a small whine making it's way from his lips.

“God, Pete please,” he mumbles into his shoulder, and Pete flicks his wrist, moving his fingers around again, dragging more porn-worthy reactions out of his partner.

Pete turns his head and mouths at Patrick’s ear. “What do you want? You gotta tell me what you want or I'm just going to leave you here.”

Of course, they both know he’s lying. Pete wouldn't do that to Patrick, or himself. It's all part of the fun.

“Want you to fuck me,” Patrick gets out before Pete pressed hard against that spot again and he's letting out another high-pitched whine.

Pete pulls back and takes his fingers out of Patrick’s ass. The ginger-blond pouts slightly at the loss, but Pete’s pulling off his shirt and dropping his boxers before he's pinning Patrick down against the countertop again. He presses his lips furiously to his partner’s and Patrick tangles a hand in Pete’s hair, the other wrapping around Pete’s dick.

Patrick starts jacking Pete off, their lips dancing and their tongues pressing sloppily together. It's not exactly the most romantic situation, but neither of them really care. The kissing goes on for a couple of minutes before Patrick growls out, “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

With an attitude like that, Pete’s going to make sure he can't walk straight for a week.

He covers his cock in lube after peeling Patrick’s hand away from it. (They'd both had that STD test before they fucked for the first time, so Pete doesn't need to use a condom, but he usually does for comfort and all) Patrick leans back on the counter, his shoulders and back of his head pressing against the kitchen wall. His knees are bent, giving Pete a wonderful view of his ass, and he stops to ponder for a moment about how on earth he managed to get this beautiful person to fall in love with him.

Pete pulls Patrick’s legs up so the knees rest over his shoulders and pauses for a second, again. Patrick sticks his lip out in a pout. “Pete, if you don't put your dick in me, I swear to god.”

He doesn't need any more words from the smaller man before Pete guides his cock to Patrick’s ass. It's slides easily between his cheeks and presses against his hole, making Patrick let out a breathy gasp. “My god, Pete, please.”

Well, it's not like Pete can exactly say no to that, and Patrick grips tightly onto his hair, tugging sharply when Pete presses in and whimpering.

“This must be an uncomfortable position for you,” Pete jokes, nose to nose with Patrick who is curled into a position that cannot be natural.

The blond just glares. “Move, you dick, this isn't fair.”

Pete does move, and god after two weeks this sex is already fucking amazing. It's not long before Patrick is moaning and leaning back, his head banging against the wall in an off key rhythm to Pete’s thrusts. “I like your sideburns,” Pete comments, not knowing why he did, and Patrick glares at him. The glare turns into squeezed eyes and a slutty-sounding moan as Pete brushes against his prostate again. “I kinda want to lick them.”

“I don't know if that's hot or creepy, but you talk too much during s-” Patrick breaks off to bring his hands to his hair and tug on it, making these horribly sinful noises that Pete will certainly jerk off to later in the shower.

He leans down to swallow one of Patrick’s moans, not stopping the movements of his hips. Patrick once said he was incredibly good at multitasking, but Pete’s pretty sure that was before they were fucking. It was probably about playing his bass and screaming into the mic at the same time, and doing sinful hip movements.

Patrick’s hand on his face pulls Pete out of his thoughts. He's pouting and not even panting anymore, which is a shame. “You're not thinking about me,” he complains, and reached a hand down to touch his dick before Pete smacks it away. “And you're not into this. Why not? Just fuck me into the fucking counter, Jesus, Pete, make my head fucking dent the wall or I'll just fuck myself and you can stay here you massive dick.”

Pete’s pretty sure Patrick is the one being a massive dick right now, but he obliges and thrusts roughly into his boyfriend again, making Patrick let out a series of cuss words. He clenches around Pete’s cock, which feels utterly incredible, and leads to more intense fucking on Pete’s part.

Patrick’s panting and moaning breathily beneath him, and his hand is wrapped around his own cock again, much to Pete’s dismay. He tugs it away and Trick whines in distaste. “You're not allowed to touch yourself, baby, you have to come without that.”

He knows this pisses Patrick off, but Pete doesn't give a fuck because his dick is getting wonderful stimulation right now and nothing could make this any better.

“Pete, lie down on the table, I want to fucking ride you.”

Okay, so maybe that was a lie. Patrick let's put a whine when Pete pulls out and maneuvers to the kitchen table, pushing their cute little napkin holder Patrick picked out onto the floor and lying down, watching his boyfriend roll his sweater sleeves over his hands to have sweater paws. Patrick hops off the counter and the sweater flutters slightly around him, an end getting somewhat caught on his dick. He makes his way over to Pete and uses a chair to climb onto the table.

Pete props himself up, his head on his palm and his elbow on the table. “You gonna fuck yourself on me, baby?”

“You bet I am.”

Patrick moves so he’s hovering over Pete’s crotch, his knees on either side of Pete, just fucking sits right on his dick. Obviously he was holding it before, and his face just contorts into one of pure pleasure. Pete reaches up to grab at Patrick’s hair, enjoying the feeling of him literally bouncing on his cock.

“We should have fucked when you had longer hair,” Pete gets out, and Patrick moans in response. “Back when we did Cork Tree. I would have pulled that so much.”

“Oh my god.” Patrick shoves a hand over Pete’s mouth and the taller man lets him, putting his hands behind his head and grinning into Patrick’s palm. Patrick himself takes his own dick in his hand, jerking himself off in time with fucking himself on Pete. And honestly? It's unbelievably hot.

Pete let’s out a hot breath when Patrick throws back his head and moans. The sound goes straight to his crotch, and everything feels so tight and wound up. “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, fuck Patrick oh my god.”

Before Pete can even register what’s happening his body is tensing up and he’s coming. It's got to be the best orgasm he's had in forever. God, what makes it even better are the noises that come out of Patrick’s mouth in response. It's so undeniably hot, he could come again just from that.

Patrick’s still fucking himself on Pete’s cock, hot and flushed and panting and moaning, and slowly coming apart until he’s coming too and then he sort of just flops down and lies on Pete’s chest, panting. Pete is panting too, and he smiles and runs his fingers through his partner’s hair. The ginger-blond’s eyes are closed and he's smiling into Pete’s chest, practically glowing.

“I love you,” Pete whispers, and although it's a stretch, he presses a soft kiss into Patrick’s hair.

Patrick just nods, still slightly trying to catch his breath.

It's not really the most romantic of moments, but it's them, it's their thing, and hey, now maybe Patrick won't be as upset with Pete for spending absolutely way too much money on that guitar and couple of drums he’d been eyeing for a few months now.

“We still have pancakes to eat,” Pete says, and Patrick snorts into his chest.

“Pete, shut the fuck up.”


End file.
